


Broken

by supernutjapan



Series: The Boy in the Mirror [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Bottom Dean, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Master/Slave, Other, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Underage Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernutjapan/pseuds/supernutjapan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester are picked up by a travelling circus while they are very young. The circus is a very dangerous place for two young boys and Dean must give up a part of himself in order to protect his brother.</p><p>Timed a month after Body and Soul - more heartache, but maybe a little hope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Sam and Dean Winchester. They belong solely to the creators of the TV show Supernatural.
> 
> My love to siennavie who created the artwork that inspired the story (http://siennavie.livejournal.com/35547.html ) and created the beautiful banner and dividers, and saltandburnboys who beta-ed it thoroughly.  All remaining mistakes are mine.

“Dean, why won’t you go with me to Grange’s? You know he’s asked about you every time.” 

Sam had been introduced into the show today as the knife thrower's assistant after one month of training with Grange, and he was still on a high from it an hour later. He'd been chattering incessantly as they put the horses down for the night, and Dean had a strong feeling that Sam would be out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

“I’m busy running errands for the Master, you know that.” 

"But, it would be so much more fun training with you, Dean. Pleeeeease?" Horse forgotten, Sam hopped up and down beside Dean, his hands clasped in front of his face, eyes in full puppy dog mode. 

Dean looked away and tried to pretend he was too busy to look his brother in the eye. The truth was, Dean had been avoiding the knife thrower as much as possible for the last month. It seemed like everyone was looking at him differently since that day. Their voices had turned scornful, and their eyes roaming and speculative. Grange had been great with Sam so far, but what if he found out what Dean was? What if he looked too close and saw it?

"Stop playing around and do your job, Sammy." he answered gruffly. "I'm tired and I still have to take that stuff to storage." He knew Sam was pouting now, but he just turned around and went back to work. He could take it. There were more important things at stake here than hurting Sam's feelings.

Dean's lone footsteps echoed in the hallway circling the tent as he carried the few leftover props to storage. He'd barely registered the hall door banging open when he felt a beefy hand grab his arm. The boxes he'd been carrying crashed to the floor as he was pulled inside one of the changing rooms. 

"Gotcha!" the Master laughed. He smelled like stale whiskey as he panted in Dean's ear and stuck his wet tongue inside. 

He's plastered, Dean thought cringing. Sober Master was bad, but drunk Master was so much worse. He felt the man's hand grab at his crotch and a hard dick grind against his ass, giving him a brief moment of hope that maybe this would be quick. He should've known it would never be that easy.

The Master slammed Dean into the wall with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs, his tongue still sloppily invading Dean's ear. "See what you do to me, you little slut? Ever since I devoured your sweet little hole, I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop wanting you. I want to fuck you so bad." He almost whined out the last part, his stinking breath making Dean feel sick to his stomach. "We're going to have some fun tonight," he slurred as he fumbled with Dean's T-shirt, grabbing it at the waist and pulling it up over Dean's head. 

As soon as the shirt was free, the Master used it to tie Dean's wrists and pull them up so he could loop it over the clothes hook in the ceiling. 

"Stay," he demanded unnecessarily. The bonds were loose and Dean could have escaped at any time, but he was smart enough not to even try. 

The Master trailed his hand down Dean's bare chest with the tips of his fingers, chuckling as Dean's body hair stood on end in response, then roughly grabbed and pulled Dean's belt buckle toward him, quickly undoing his button and pulling down the zipper as he did so. 

He pushed Dean's pants down along with his underwear, kicking them out of the way once they were free of his legs, then took a step back and licked his lips as he gazed hungrily at Dean for a long moment before stripping off the rest of his own clothes.

Fully naked now, his expansive chest covered with dark hair and his large dick rising against his stomach, he grabbed the whiskey from the counter and stepped up to Dean again. Taking a swig from the bottle, he grabbed the short hairs at the nape of Dean's neck to force Dean's head up, then slammed his mouth into Dean's, filling it with the liquid fire which made Dean cough and splutter as he forced it down his throat. 

He then tipped the whiskey bottle over one of Dean's shoulder blades, and then the other, so that little trickles of whiskey flowed across Dean's nipples, around his crotch and down his legs. "Sweetening the pie a bit, boy." He grinned, then proceeded to bend down and slowly lick along the trail of whiskey with his thick, hot tongue while his pudgy hands made their way across Dean’s smooth back and gripped his ass cheeks, holding Dean steady. Dean cried out when the Master bit his nipple, the pain sending a bolt of electricity straight to his groin and making his dick jerk up in response. He sobbed as he felt arousal beginning to stir within him. 

"It feels so good, doesn't it? You want this so bad, don't you?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Say it." 

"I want it so bad, Sir." 

The Master laughed. "You were born to be a whore, boy. My little bitch," he said as he continued his way down Dean's body, licking the whiskey up Dean's slim abs, dipping his tongue into his navel to lick away a drop there. Then he moved down to suck drops of whiskey off of Dean's balls and the inside of his thigh, before putting his head between Dean's legs to flick his tongue inside his hole, all the while making obscene noises that made Dean pant and hiss as he tried to control his reaction. 

Suddenly, Dean's eyes widened as he felt his dick enveloped by the Master's hot mouth, and he couldn't control himself any longer. His mind exploded like a bunch of fireworks, and he let out a weak cry as his dick pumped dry. Only then did he notice that the Master had already released him and was standing in front of him, shaking with barely suppressed fury as drops of come slid from Dean's dick onto the floor. 

"How dare you come in your Master's mouth, without permission and before your Master has been satisfied?" Dean felt shame and dread well up as he looked up at the Master and pleaded, "Please, Sir, I'm sorry..." 

The Master took a swig of whiskey to rinse his mouth with and picked up his belt from the counter. 

“Why I put up with this, I don't know," he said quietly, as if to himself, walking over to Dean with the belt cradled in his hands. "Turn around." 

The whipping began as soon as Dean had his face to the wall. Stroke after stroke of unrelenting leather came down on his back until Dean's shouts became hoarse and he was sure there was no longer any skin left unmarked. Yet, Dean welcomed the pain - the only thing that could make him forget what he was for a short while. Finally, the Master stopped and stood huffing for a few seconds before he unhooked Dean’s hands. 

As Dean crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath with tears streaming from his eyes, the Master was there to grip his hair and pull him up. "What do you say?" he wheezed. 

"I'm sorry, Sir." 

"You'd better be THANKFUL, boy. I'm the only one willing to put up with a worthless piece of shit like you. WHAT DO YOU SAY?" 

"Thank you, Sir," Dean sobbed. 

The Master pulled Dean's head down to his dick, which Dean obediently drew into his own mouth and sucked until it was fully hard. 

Then, the side of his tear stained face was pushed down onto the hard marble counter, and Dean felt his ass cheeks being pulled apart and cold lube slapped on his hole.   
He gasped at the sudden forceful intrusion of the Master's dick, filling him up, and waited in dread for the Master to draw back for the second assault. But instead, the Master stopped moving completely, his dick held snuggly inside of Dean. 

"You think I'm going to give you pleasure again, boy?" he hissed. "You think I'm going to do all the work? Move your ass. Show me how much you want it. Give it to me." Dean felt the searing pain of the Master's belt on his back again then. "Move, bitch." Dean scrambled forward so that the Master's dick slid halfway out of him, then pushed back again, his hands firmly gripping the edge of the counter to plunge the man's dick deep inside himself. Back and forth, Dean ground himself against the Master's legs as the man continued to whip him. The strokes cut deeper and deeper into his flesh as they hit old wounds. "More. Faster. Deeper, bitch! MOVE!" And Dean obeyed, desperate for it to end. 

Finally, the Master grabbed Dean's hips to hold them still for a few final thrusts of his own and then it was over.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late and no workers were in sight when Dean finally stumbled out through the side entrance. He limped towards his trailer, grateful that Sam would've been too tired to stay up for him. 

Suddenly, there was a low growl from between the trailers to his left and Dean was thrown to the ground, the air knocked out of him for the second time that evening and sharp claws digging into his shoulders. As he looked up in pain and surprise, he saw the most grotesque creature snarling down at him, spittle dripping from its mouth full of fangs, yellow eyes glaring. 

He instinctively tried to push the monster away, but his struggling seemed to only make the monster dig its claws even deeper into his flesh. And just when he thought it was going to take a bite out of him, he heard a loud thud and the monster jerked away for a moment before it slumped back down onto Dean, seemingly dead. Dean pushed its lifeless body off of him so he could scramble away a few feet. 

As he struggled to make sense of what had just happened, a shadow ran up to him and Dean quickly realised it was Grange, the knife thrower. "Dean, what are you doing here?!"  
Dean looked down at the strange creature lying next to him, and at the knife sticking out of its back. Grange's knife. He looked back up at Grange and asked, "What...?"  
Grange pointed his flashlight at Dean. "You're hurt! Did he bite you?" 

"No...?" Dean suddenly became conscious of the pain in his shoulders and he looked down to see blood flowing freely where his T-shirt had been ripped to shreds. He felt faint.  
"Thank God. We've got to tend to those injuries; come with me." 

Dean looked blankly back up at Grange for a second before remembering that he had been avoiding this man, although he couldn't quite remember why. 

"No. I mean, no thank you. I can tend to them myself." Dean tried to scramble to his feet but ended up slumping back on the ground. "I've got to go," he said desperately. 

"Dean, werewolf injuries should be looked at by someone who knows what they are doing." 

"Werewolf? Is that...those are real?" Dean whispered. 

"Yes, unfortunately." 

"You mean…are other monsters real too? 

Grange sighed. "Yes. But we can talk about that later. Let me clean up the mess here and then I'll fix you up in my trailer. I'll tell you all about it, okay? Just wait." 

Dean was starting to feel extremely sick and he couldn't seem to think straight. He lay back down and felt darkness envelop him.

Dean woke up to the sound of a kettle whistling and cautiously opened his eyes to find himself on a cozy quilted bed, his chest bare except for his bandaged shoulders. He sat up with a jerk of alarm, then lay back down when a wave of dizziness hit him. Grange glanced at him from the kitchen counter, where he was busy dumping a large amount of sugar into a mug of coffee.

"Don't move so quickly, you might faint again," he told Dean matter-of-factly as he gave him the mug. "The sugar will help with the blood loss." 

As Dean sat up again, a bit more slowly this time, in his mind was the terrifying knowledge that Grange must have seen his back. He must know…Tears welled in his eyes as he slowly put the coffee on the table next to the bed and stood up, wobbling slightly. 

"I'm so sorry. Thank you so much for treating me, but I really have to go." 

"Dean, no." Grange was right in front of him in a second, so close that Dean had no choice but to sit back down on the bed. The man then took the seat by the bed and looked in Dean's eyes. Dean immediately averted his gaze though, and glanced down at his hand, clenched at his side. 

"He’s hurting you, isn’t he? The Ring Master." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

“I saw the welts and cuts on your back.” 

“That’s…that’s from clown practice. I fell on my back." 

"Dean, I know the Ring Master has some sort of hold on you. I could tell there was something the first day I met you. The expression on your face when he came up behind you..." Grange's voice broke. "That son-of-a-bitch is hurting you, isn't he? Is he making you do things you don't want to do?" 

"No, of course not," Dean quickly answered, but Grange seemed to see something in his eyes. "I'm going to kill that bastard." He made as if to stand up. 

"No!" Dean grabbed Grange’s shirt in panic. 

"Why?" 

"Just, no. Please don't do anything. Please. If you care at all about Sam...please don't say anything to anyone," Dean pleaded. 

Grange slowly sat back down. “What the hell has Sam got to do with this? He’s not being hurt too, is he?” His voice rose a notch on the second question. 

“No! No. He has nothing to do with it. He doesn’t know anything about it, and I need to keep it that way. Please.” 

“But if he’s hurting you, how can I just do nothing?” 

“Because I've asked you. Please. I’m handling it. I’ve been handling it. Everything is fine. And if you try to do anything, it will just make things so much worse.” A tear rolled down from Dean's eye then as he looked desperately at this kind man who didn't know...and what a relief that was. He didn't know that it was Dean who was asking for it. That this was all Dean's fault. He deserved every single lash he got from the Master. 

“Handling it, my ass," Grange grumbled worriedly. He looked at the boy for a while, biting his cheek and drumming his fingers against his knee. "Alright. But on one condition. You come and train with Sam.” 

“It’s a deal.” Dean took a deep shaky breath to control his emotions and said as calmly as he could, "Now, tell me about the monsters.”


End file.
